


winter wonderland

by haloud



Series: in any season [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Nebulous Well-Adjusted Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 00:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: Winter is Alex's favorite season, and Michael helps him count the ways.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: in any season [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534799
Comments: 16
Kudos: 125





	winter wonderland

The cold comes on so early this year, and it brings all the normal problems cold brings. People forget how to drive in the snow. Michael is slammed at work because of it. The sky is low and heavy and dark, even in the middle of the day. The changing air pressure wreaks havoc on a dozen old injuries between them.

All that considered, though, winter is Alex’s favorite season.

Yeah, Alex loves a lot of things about winter. He loves hot drinks and the snap of cold air in his lungs and the smell of pine and the way snow looks when it’s untouched. He loves it when Michael shoves his cold hands up his shirt and Alex grabs his wrist and twists his arm until, laughing, he cries mercy and offers to warm them both up. He loves the way Buffy turns her nose up at the smell of snow and the marks her paws make in the yard. He loves it all in a way he never thought he could love a thing, in a way he has to itemize in moments like this so he can remember it later, when it feels so much farther away. He counts the sturdy icicles hanging from the porch awning and adds that many points to the list.

Michael is a heat-seeking creature. The second a fire gets going in the fireplace, he’s on the thick, comfortable rug in front of it with his eyes drooping, asleep within minutes. Buffy comes padding in and flops all her weight on top of him, reclaiming her territory. Five feet away on the couch, Alex pretends like he’s still reading a book and not just staring at the picture they make with his heart in his throat.

Michael naps for about an hour, time Alex marks in either the ticking of the kitchen clock or the crackling of the fire. Then, stirring, he rolls onto his side, which dislodges Buffy’s head from his stomach. With a disgruntled canine huff, she rolls too, putting her back to both Michael and Alex, making her opinion _perfectly _well known.

Cracking one eye open, Michael looks at Alex with the drifting, hazy awe that only exists in the seconds after a dream. Even when those cobwebs clear away, though, his mouth stays naturally curved into a smile, one Alex wants to kiss, to capture in a moment with his own, because he isn’t artist enough to immortalize it any other way.

Michael’s chest is all flushed from the heat of the fire; his hair is mushed flat on one side. He looks utterly ridiculous, and Alex says as much, his voice normal and natural even though he’s a mess inside.

“You’re ridiculous,” Michael mumbles back, voice still slurring from sleep.

“Uh-huh. Sure I am.” He feels it, though; he feels ridiculous, hyper-real and hyper-aware of himself, his own body, his hands in his lap and his fingers ruffling the corners of his book and every little hair on the back of his neck and his foot on the ground that wants to creep toward Michael’s body and wiggle his toes under him just to give them some point of physical connection, a place to ground all the emotions sparking through him.

“Get down here so I can tell you how ridiculous you are.”

Alex puts his book aside and slides himself off the couch and onto the rug, scooting closer, Michael pulling him in until Alex is laying alongside him, face to face. Michael nuzzles in to kiss him but misses the first try, clumsily sliding his lips across the corner of Alex’s mouth then, laughing, continuing to trail a line of little kisses across his cheek, his jaw, and down his neck to his chest. Their moving about too disturbing for her, Buffy gets up and stalks off into the bedroom.

The firelight plays off the dark wood walls, off the windows, off the shifting, sleek muscles of Michael’s back as he slides down to kiss between Alex’s pecs, then back up to the hollow of his throat, then finally their mouths collide again. Mesmerized, Alex’s eyes stay slitted open as the kiss deepens; he trails five fingertips oh-so-softly down the dividing line of Michael’s spine, chasing the leaping firelight. Soft little noises bubble up from Michael’s throat, contented and eager. The way he’s put himself half down Alex’s body gives Alex the perfect vantage point to wrap a hand in his hair and pull his head back, demanding more of his mouth, more of the taste of his lips and tongue.

Without separating for a second, Michael moves to roll them together, putting Alex on his back beneath him. In retaliation, Alex grabs for him, wraps his hands around his hips, digging his fingers into the dimples at the base of Michael’s spine and dragging him forward, forcing them to _grind _together, setting a pace and a friction between them that has both their cocks hardening together, a heat building in the space their bodies make. Michael throws his head back on an encouraging moan, giving Alex the perfect opening to lunge forward and nip at Michael’s neck, the way he knows that Michael loves—he loves to press on the little bruises the next day to remind himself of the pain and the pleasure, likes to send Alex selfies at work, his face in focus, the camera angled just so to show the blurred red edge of a bruise on his collarbone peeking above the collar of his shirt. Alex nips him again right there, then softer further up, not bruising, just reveling in the contrasting softness of his skin beneath the stubble.

Pliant and purring from Alex’s ministrations, Michael doesn’t resist when Alex hooks his good leg around the back of his knees and flips them so that Michael’s beneath him, his hair spread out around his head like a halo.

They move like that for a while, Alex laying fully on top of Michael, their legs tangled together, just running their hands over each other's bodies to memorize every line like it's even possible they could have forgotten in the first place. Clothes start going missing as they roll together, their mouths only parting to let Alex’s shirt pass between them; when Michael finally manages to shimmy his pants off, Alex grabs his ass with both hands and grinds them together, drinking down the noise he makes at the friction, headier than wine, so Alex does it again, digging his fingers into the muscle of Michael’s ass and forcing him to grind down hard against the hardness of Alex’s thigh between his legs. Whining, Michael works his hips lighter and lighter, more and more fluid and weak and willing, less humping and more just going with the flow that Alex sets.

So Alex has to kiss him, has to grab his chin and hold him still and _devour _him. The sex they have, it’s—Michael’s body is an easy instrument. He makes Alex a virtuoso.

“I want you,” Alex says, nuzzling at Michael’s ear. “I want you. I want you to fuck me.”

Without missing a beat, Michael summons lube and a condom from some far-flung corner of the cabin. They tumble to the rug beside him while Michael sucks on the skin in the hollow of his jaw and waits for orders.

“Like this,” Alex says, dragging Michael in to spoon behind him, pushing back against him, forcing their bodies as close and snug together as possible, making Michael’s cock rub teasingly against his ass.

Grabbing his hand, Alex slicks up Michael's fingers and, while Michael watches, open-mouthed and shutter-eyed, guides them to his hole. Michael knows just how he likes it--two fingers straight away, starting out with slow, deep strokes and building up in rhythm until Michael's three deep and pulsing his fingers ruthlessly against Alex's prostate. The whole time, Alex has his hands planted on Michael's chest, gripping the nest of hair there, rolling his thumbnails over Michael's nipples to hear him whine. Feeling Michael's pounding heartbeat, just for him.

Just for him. Just—he mouths it, his breath sighing and shaky, he mouths _just for me _as his head tilts back to rest against Michael’s as Michael sinks inside him, filling him so…fully, so completely, and he squeezes tight around him to heighten the sensation, a deep-chested moan falling out of his mouth. Michael's hands fly helplessly to cradle Alex's hips as he starts to work his hips back at him, savoring the clench and burn of his core muscles and his thighs and the muscles deep inside him, bearing down with every pass of Michael’s cock, fluttering every time he rubs against Alex’s prostate, sending waves of happy shivering through his body.

_“Michael, _Michael,” he moans, trying to say everything he has to say in every language he knows all condensed down into two syllables. He’d beg if it meant Michael would understand, understand how there’s so much love and adoration and possessive, grabby need inside him it doesn’t fit in his chest—and god, maybe, maybe he does get it, because he lets out a little hitching cry right in Alex’s ear and thrusts _harder, _a quick, pounding rhythm that _lights _Alex up inside, has his hands finding Michael’s thighs to egg him on further, to claw at him so he leaves behind stinging welts there where Michael will feel them every time he sits down, every time rough denim rubs against that skin.

“Michael!” Alex cries again when the pain makes Michael’s rhythm falter as he hooks his arm around Alex’s chest, holding him with a grip like steel as he digs teeth into his shoulder and, with quick and jerky thrusts, comes at the sound of his name. He tries to pull out, but Alex hisses and digs his nails into his thighs again, forcing him to stay and, understanding, he does, filling Alex up as he reaches around to rub his cock. Alex fucks against his rough palm, desperate enough he’s burning from the inside out as the friction burns from the outside in and in the middle of all that burning he’s coming in pulses, something shuddering inside him finally unfurling, letting him collapse back into the cradle of Michael’s arms, the strength of his body.

Michael’s cock slips out of his body, making Alex hiss again from the raw sensation. Michael removes the condom and TKs it to the trash.

The rug is thick enough to keep all chill rising from the floor off their bodies. The fire is banked and low now, but in the heat it’s left behind they’re slicked with sweat everywhere, especially where their skin is pressed together. In the little bit of light coming off the flickering embers, Alex turns to look at Michael’s face, at his heavy golden eyes, and he lays his forehead in the crook of his neck, nosing in, searching for the smell of woodsmoke.

Michael lays his hand between Alex’s shoulders, hugging him tight, and Alex wraps him up too. It isn’t even that late, but it gets dark so early in the winter—and that’s something Alex loves about it too, because once the sun’s gone down outside it really feels like Michael is his, like they’re the last two people on the entire planet, like everything is where it should be.

“All good?” Michael murmurs, laying a kiss on Alex’s temple.

“I needed that,” Alex admits.

“Any particular reason you wanna talk about?”

“Hm.”

“We don’t have to. I think I know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I know what it’s like to need a firm reminder that all this is real. To need confirmation it’s not a trick, that it’s solid and can’t be taken away. You give me that every time. I hope I could do the same for you.”

“You did.” Alex clenches his sore muscles down, reveling in the evidence. “Oh, you did. But don’t go getting smug on me.”

“Nah. I only pull out the smugness when other people ask me about you an’ I get to tell ‘em you’re mine.”

“Fuck, Michael.”

Alex bites down onto his shoulder to muffle a burst of over-fond laughter, and Michael pulls his head back to watch him, grinning huge at his reaction.

“You’re too much. It’s all too much. You here, you wanting to be here, you napping with our dog in front of the fire like something out of a Hallmark movie…”

“I know.”

“But I don’t mean too much in a way that I want you to change. Not at all. It’s just—it’s like—”

“Alex. I know.” He leans his head back against Alex’s, his eyes drifting shut. “Half the time it feels like I’m hallucinating when I wake up and you’re there. And then in my actual dreams I reach out to touch you and my hand goes right through.”

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up back in the Middle East. And then in my dreams I call and call you but you’re just…gone. So far away. Out of reach.”

The cabin seems impossibly dark now. They could poke the fire back to life, but Alex’s limbs are so heavy with sleep it would be a little dangerous. As the temperature of the room drops, Michael pulls a thick quilt off the back of the couch and drapes it over them, and in the little space beneath it, Michael’s superheated body goes to work.

“We’re both here now,” Michael says. “I’m not going away. I’m not going anywhere, unless it’s somewhere you’ve told me to go.”

“Then come here,” Alex says, even though Michael is already as close as he could possibly be. He still follows orders; he still tries to get closer, burrowing against him, pressing his feet against Alex’s foot, so they’re touching from head to toe.

“I’m here,” Michael says, and Alex feels the pass of his eyelashes as he lets his eyes fall shut.


End file.
